


Wild Horses

by alittlebriton



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebriton/pseuds/alittlebriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after X-Men 2 (let's all pretend Last Stand never happened, mmkay?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Horses

Three months after Jean’s death, Emma is summoned to the Institute. She knows why, of course, as does he, but she goes through the motions of sitting in his office and taking tea, accepting his offer of a position at the school.

Charles warns her that her reception might be hostile, and she thinks _no shit_ , shielding her thoughts carefully. Logan looks her up and down, gives a snort of derision and walks out. Ororo looks her straight in the eye and holds it, her way of saying that she’s watching every step Emma makes. Scott gives a nod before returning to the patch of floor he seems to find so interesting. Only Henry gives her a smile.

Their attitude rubs off on the students, who treat her like a dangerous animal. When she smiles at them, they smile back, small curves of mouths that don’t reach the eyes. She accepts this in silence, and doesn’t try to make them think of her as a friend.

She slips into the academic side of the mansion easily enough. She wanted to be a teacher from as early as she can remember, and while some would say it is the ultimate form of control, she knows better. No matter the student, there is something to be proud of in all of them, something to encourage. Something her father never understood.

She watches the respect that Ororo commands, the big brother attitude that Scott has. Her eyes slide to him more than she would like. He shows no emotion, at least, not genuine emotion as far as she can tell. He would smile at a student, and then as soon as the attention was directed away from him, the smile would slip off his face, and it would become blank again.

Emma ignores the way her heart sinks when that happens. Every time.

***

Logan stops by her office in her second week, leaning against the doorframe and sniffing the air.

“Something I can help you with, Logan?” she asks politely. He’s her first visitor besides Henry and Charles.

“Yeah. I know why _I_ don’t like you here. Why haven’t the others greeted you with open arms?”  
  
 _Well, at least he’s honest_ , she thinks. She puts her pen down and looks him in the eye.

_“_ I attempted to kill them. I wasn’t a very nice person then, and aren’t too sure whether I’m one now. But Charles believes in second chances.”

He nods slowly, as if that was what he expected.

“Your perfume has the same amounts of sandalwood in it as hers did.” And with that, he leaves the room. She buys new perfume the next day, and Logan grunts in appreciation the next time she brushes past him.

She can’t tell if Scott notices the difference.

***

She eats lunch by herself if she eats at all. From time to time, Henry sits with her when he isn’t in his lab, and she welcomes his presence and his way of speaking in famous quotations. He asked her once, if she minded that no one else sat with her.

She chewed slowly, thinking it over.

“Not especially.” She gave him a sardonic grin.

“You see, Henry, you are a beast on the outside with the soul of a poet. I have the body of an angel, but am a beast inside. Most people would prefer to have the beast where they can see it. Given the choice, even I would prefer your mutation.”

“But then you would deprive us of what the children call ‘eye candy’.” Henry waggled his eyebrows suggestively and looked at her over his glasses.

She had laughed, and stood up, and offered him a genuine, wide smile that lit up her face. Henry’s ears had picked up a sharp intake of breath behind him, and as Emma walked out of the cafeteria, he had turned his head.

Even hidden behind his glasses, Henry could tell Scott’s eyes were on her retreating figure.

***

Her students are learning from her, that much is certain. Another one for the plus column. She walks down to her classroom, narrowly dodging two girls who are laughing about some actor. One of her books falls from her grasp, and she kneels to pick it up. Her fingers meet skin, not paper, and she jerks her hand back in surprise.

“Here” says Scott, rising with her and handing her book back.

Emma manages to reply “Thank you” automatically, and watches as Scott walks back down the corridor. She looks back down at her hand. It’s still shaking, and she clenches it in a fist and moves on.

***

Late on Christmas Eve, she is grading papers, trying not to scream at some of the attempts at spelling and grammar. Apparently, floating brains aren’t that smart. A shadow crosses her doorway and she looks up. Scott.

“What are you doing still here?” The only expression she can make out in the lamplight is his eyebrow, raised in astonishment.

“Catching up on my immense backlog of papers and lesson plans.” She gestures to the documents on her desk.

“No, I mean, why aren’t you with your family or something.”

She gives him a long hard look, and he swallows nervously.

“Like most people here, I have no family.” She hesitates, wanting suddenly to tell him why, how fucked up her family is, and was, and how it’s all her fault, then bites her lip and looks back at her desk.

He nods slowly, thinking, and turns to go. At door, he tilts his head back.

“We have a little get-together in the reception room, with eggnog and very twinkling lights and exceeding loud obnoxious music, courtesy of Jubilee. You are welcome to join us.”

Before Emma can open her mouth to say thank you, he slips from the room.

She joins them later, and Rogue hands her a cup of foul-smelling alcohol and smiles at her. They speak for nearly an hour, and all the time Emma thinks how fitting it is that the two untouchables are in a corner together, viewed suspiciously by everyone else.

***

She speaks a lot to Rogue in the cold early months of the new year. Her mutation fascinates Emma. It took a while, but she managed to convince the girl that she could control herself if she tried hard enough, and took longer to convince her that it was safe for Emma to be her test subject. She threw up strong walls around her past to protect herself, not wanting to make an enemy out of a new friend.

She catches Rogue smiling at her when she and Scott are next in the same room, and silently curses herself for not thinking to protect her recent thoughts.

In the middle of a particularly cold night in February, she is woken up by voices arguing in the hallway. She ties her robe around herself and pads sleepily to the landing. Downstairs, Scott and Logan are fighting, and Emma crouches to watch them through the bars of the staircase. Her mind flashes to when she would watch her parents fighting, crouched like this, and shakes the memory from her head.

She becomes aware of a silent presence beside her, and looks up to find Rogue standing beside her.

“It‘s her birthday” Rogue says simply. _Ah_ , Emma thinks, _that‘s right_.

She turns her head to watch the two men. Scott is whispering something in a low voice to Logan, who abruptly punches the wall beside him then lets out a choked sob. To Emma’s surprise, Scott opens his arms and Logan clutches at him briefly, like a man trying to survive, before throwing the front door open and walking into the cold air.

Rogue’s face has gone white, and Emma suddenly understands.

“You know” she says softly, “Logan never had her, which is why he can’t let her go.” Rogue looks startled for a second, then she gives Emma a tiny smile.

“And why Scott is starting to”, she replies, then walks back to her room, the door closing with a soft click. Emma feels frozen in place, and slowly turns her head to find Scott looking directly at her, his face inscrutable in the darkness. They look at each other for a long time, until Emma remembers where she is and rises to her feet.

She knows it’s impossible, but she could swear his eyes went to where her robe slipped open for a second. Her thigh feels warm throughout the night, and Emma gets no sleep.

***

He becomes warmer, somehow, yet still as untouchable as Rogue. The spring thaws everyone slightly, and now even Ororo will speak to her. Logan comes back sometime in April with fresh tear sin his clothes but peace in his face, and heads straight to Rogue’s room. She and Scott watch him go in silence. He turns to her.

“That’s that, then.” She nods her assent, but before she leaves, he grips her arm. She finds herself close to him, so close she can smell the soap on his skin, and she cannot move a muscle.

“Thank you. For helping her.”

“You’re welcome.” He releases her arm and he’s gone, and she becomes aware of someone else in the hallway. The Professor smiles slowly at her, and closes his door.

***

Somehow, it becomes June. She holds her head in her hands and tries to breathe in slowly. Inhale, exhale. Push all extraneous thoughts out, hold your own mind in. A throat is cleared somewhere above her, and she looks up, squinting through puffy eyes.

“Exam time used to be hell for Jean.” Scott places a cup of tea and a bottle in front of her. “She used to swear by camomile and nettle tea, and cod liver oil. I thought it might help.”

“Thank you.” She offers him a small smile in return. He frowns at her.

“How are you sleeping?”

Her smile grows wider.

“I seem to recall a few hours about six days ago. Good times. Did you know that half of the school seems to be under the impression that, if they fail, they get extra self-defence classes with Logan? Where they are blindfolded?”

Scott grins at her, suddenly and sharply, and she inhales quickly as the way his face lights up.

“I wonder how that rumour got around.”

She starts to laugh, and he joins her for a moment, until the familiar look of guilt and sadness descends.

“I’ll talk to the professor about your sleeping arrangements. Our - my room is semi-soundproofed for this very reason. We’ll just move you in. I should have done that when you came, I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before.”

“Scott, you don’t have to do that. It’s your home.” She instinctively put out a hand.

“It hasn’t been my home for months. It would be worth it to make your life here easier.” He straightens up abruptly, and strides out of her office, leaving her to stare open-mouthed at him.

That night she is safely ensconced in Scott’s room, now with all her furniture in it, and she is very aware of him sleeping two rooms down.

***

She knocks on the door and it is opened almost immediately. He wears only his shades and pyjamas bottoms, and she cannot read his expression. Scott stands to one side to let her enter, and she closes the door with her body, leaning against the wood for support. He paces in front of her and looks her straight in the eyes.

“You can’t replace her.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“You can’t be what Jean was to me.” He shakes his head, a warning that she would be foolish to even try.

She tilts her chin up at the challenge. “I can be Emma.”

He holds her gaze, then slowly walks towards her until he is directly in front of her. She holds her breath.

He ghosts a hand over her face, outlining her lips and sliding down her neck, skating over the silk at her shoulders. Her father used to say that all horses were skittish with new owners, and all you had to do was hold still and let them come to you, until they were eating sugar lumps out of your hand. Then you could control them.

She doesn’t know what makes her think of that now.

His hand hovers over her skin at the base of her throat, until his thumb touches her skin, and she lets out a sigh she wasn’t aware she was holding in. Then his mouth is on hers, and his skin touches her skin and she can feel him through her silk and his flannel and she fits into his body like she belongs there.

***

“Why me?”

She rolls over on his sheets and runs her hand around his glasses, a brief touch of warmth on his cheek.

“Why anyone, Scott? Why not you?”

“I don’t have an answer for that.”

She grins at him, quickly.

“Sometimes you don’t need one.”

His answering smile reaches his eyes; this she knows for certain.


End file.
